The Storyteller And The Story Told
by Tatsumaki-sama
Summary: A little boy is curious about "The Boy Who Lived" and his grandfather tells him the story.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters.

**Bonus points for you if you can guess which character is which.

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**The Storyteller And The Story Told ****  
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" Grandpa, can you tell me a story?" the little boy piped up.

He raised his head from the book he was reading to peer through his glasses at the boy sitting on the carpet floor. " Of course, I will," he replied with a healthy smile.

With an amazing strength for an old man like him, he lifted the little boy onto his lap. The boy giggled briefly as a brush of a knotted beard tickled against his cheeks. He gave his teddy bear an extra hard squeeze in his excitement. His Grandpa always told such fine and breathtaking stories for him.

" What would you like to hear today?"

The little boy considered for a moment. " The one about _"The Boy Who Lived_"," he eagerly said, bouncing on the knees of his Grandpa. " I heard Uncle mention it to Grandma about it earlier," he proudly included at his Grandpa's questioning look. " But they won't tell me what it was about." He scowled briefly before his face shone again with anticipation. " So maybe you could tell me, Grandpa?"

It was one story he didn't wish to tell the boy yet. He hesitated, wondering if he should suggest another story. But how could he refuse the hopeful, excited look in the child's eyes?

" Very well. Our story begins when Voldemort, a very bad wizard, came -"

" How was he bad?" the boy interrupted.

He thought to himself. How to make the Dark Lord, the sinister leader of the Death Eaters, the malevolent commander of an army festering with Dark creatures and monsters, the murderer of many, the destroyer of families, the most terrifying wizard ever known in the history, seemed frightening in the eyes of a child?

" You see, Voldemort ... he would steal the teddy bears of anyone he came across and never gave them back," he quickly said in one breath, out of fear that his voice might crack and release his pent-up laughter. However, the little boy drank in his words very seriously.

" Even Prongs?" he gasped in horror, clutching his beloved teddy bear to his chest in a crushing grip, eyes darting nervously about in the room, as if Voldemort himself would storm into their room that very minute to take his stuffed animal from him.

Biting back another bout of mirth, the old man continued. " Yes," he said in a solemn voice, though his eyes twinkled in amusement without the child noticing. " Even Prongs. Voldemort would do it. He had stolen and thieved countless teddy bears from many people after all. For a long time, those people were very sad, for they didn't have their teddy bears to keep them safe at night."

" Would they get their teddy bears back?" the boy asked in a hushed voice.

Smiling, the old man raised a hand to quiet him. " One day, Voldemort wanted a particular teddy bear. So he went down to Godric's Hollow to retrieve this extraordinary teddy bear. And he almost succeeded. Two people protecting the teddy bear did their best to stop Voldemort, but he also managed to - steal their teddy bears as well."

At this, the old man stopped, throat suddenly constricted. He knew the true story behind it. Lily and James Potter indeed did their best to stop Voldemort. But there were no teddy bears for them to protect. No teddy bears for Voldemort to steal from them. Only their very lives were stolen.

" That meanie!" the boy seethed. The normally kind and friendly child wore an expression of absolute anger and indignation, that Voldemort stealing away teddy bears from full grown adults was the most horrendous crime there was, so much that the old man chuckled.

" Indeed. Just when Voldemort was just at a hand's reach from the teddy bear he desired, the teddy bear himself refused to be taken by Voldemort. He fought back, using hot cocoa and lemon sherbets to do it. Unable to stand the attack, Voldemort fled, never to be seen again."

The boy was quiet, deep in thought. He considered inquiring of the child's peculiar behavior when the child spoke. " So the Boy Who Lived ... the one who Vol - Voly - that man wanted ... was it Prongs?" he asked, almost aghast.

He gazed gently at the little boy, already so intuitive and perceptive at his age. The boy was still far too young to understand the circumstances that led to and happened during that fateful night. He felt guilty at reserving the whole truth from the boy. He did have a right to know. After all, several other children his age did. They knew of what happened at Godric's Hollow, as sparse and subtle the details were. Nevertheless, this old man wanted to preserve the child's innocence for as long as he could.

" Yes, it was," the old man said with a twinge of regret, twisting the truth slightly. Though it was highly doubtful that Voldemort would want Prongs the teddy bear, Prongs the teddy bear was certainly there at the scene, in the hands of a certain little boy.

" Wow," the little boy breathed in reverence towards Prongs before gazing at the old man with wide, shining eyes. " Prongs must have been really brave to fight off Voldy like that."

The old man smiled at the child's apparent nickname for the most terrible wizard to have walked this earth. " He certainly was," he said with pride. " And after Prongs had defeated Voldemort, he decided to return the teddy bears that Voldemort had stolen back to those they belonged to. Everyone was happy and safe that their teddy bears had returned to them. Prongs journeyed far, all over the world, bringing joy and happiness to everyone he encountered. To do this, his giant friend helped him, riding upon a great, black motorcycle -"

" Uncle has a motorcycle too!" the boy excitedly burst out. He still fondly reminded the one time Uncle brought him around the countryside. Grandma wasn't very pleased when she found out. She even threatened to transfigure Uncle into a teapot permanently, whatever that meant. Of course, several other Uncles and Aunts of his also told Uncle off for being careless and irresponsible with him. But he didn't mind. It was so much fun. He hoped Uncle would bring him again on another ride soon.

" Yes he does," the old man said, eyes twinkling again. Apparently, he too remembered the event, though he remembered it with amusement rather than with displeasure. " After a long night of riding his friend's motorcycle, Prongs landed in a little street called Privet Drive and there, he met with another man, one with a long, white beard -"

" Like you?"

" Like me," the old man confirmed cheerfully, giving his beard a little tweak. " This old man was known as Albus Dumbledore. He had been waiting a long time to meet with Prongs. Now Prongs was quite tired from all his adventures, delivering the teddy bears back to their rightful owners. So, Dumbledore suggested that Prongs stay at Privet Drive for some time. And Prongs did."

The little boy frowned thoughtfully to himself. This Dumbledore person sounded oddly familiar. Maybe Grandma or Uncle said the name before. Whoever he was, the little boy was determined to find out later. " So Prongs decided to stay at Privet Drive?" he asked inquisitively. " If Prongs was at Privet Drive, how did Uncle bring him to me? Did Uncle met with Dumbledore too?"

No sooner than the words left his mouth, the little boy yawned, eyes fluttering shut as he rubbed his eyes. " It's time for bed now," the old man promptly said, partially relieved to put aside the boy's questioning until later. He scooped up the boy in a swift, single movement, already walking up the stairs.

" Not tired," the boy mumbled, yawning again. He felt comfortably content in the gentle hold of his grandfather. His beard that once tickled him now acted like a blanket, warm and soothing. " Finish story. Please?" he added hopefully.

" We shall finish it tomorrow night," the old man promised, settling the boy into his bed, tucking him in neatly and snugly as a parent would. " For now, sleep."

" Good night, Grandpa," the boy sighed into his blankets, burrowing deep into them, hugging the ever faithful Prongs, falling asleep almost immediately.

Kissing the boy's dark messy hair, so very similar with his father's, the old man quietly slipped towards the door with a warm smile on his face, waving the lights off, before whispering in return.

" Good night, Harry."


End file.
